The Sewells

The Naughty Sewells

London was more than permissive in the 1950s spreading into the early 1960s. Thereafter it settled down. Actually rather than settling down, certain forms of behaviour that were frowned upon earlier, became acceptable. But until it did, it was a wonderful environment to live in. And by the time it was becoming jaded, I left for three years in Switzerland and a further year in the Netherlands.

For me, always, that period will be epitomised by two brothers, Johnny and Bob Sewell, and the coterie of weird and wonderful characters and celebrities with which they surrounded themselves.

Here are a few names, and if I have omitted any from the more detailed list that follows, it is because I wish to avoid embarrassment to them or to myself. So the multiplicity of names that spring to mind, in no particular order, are "Beedlebum" Bentham, Fitzpatrick the "furniture man", Lionel Lassman, Alan Clive, John Mathis, Terry Greer, Joan Horswill, Marqueez, Adrienne Corri, Ron and Pat Musgrove. There were many, many more, but they have faded into the mists of history.

It was my LSE chum Lionel Lassman who first introduced me to the Sewells by inviting me to share his invitation to a bottle party being held at their Highgate apartment. It was - by my standards - a luxurious apartment. Johnny drove a Ford Zephyr. By my standards, at that time, a luxurious car. They - and particularly Johnny, who had a quite responsible and well-paid job with George Cohen's 600 Group of scrap metal merchants - were larger-than-life characters to someone just out of his teens. I hasten to insert here that Lionel, after that initial introduction, more or less severed his connection with the brothers. Possibly in the very real belief that the association would not benefit his legal career ambitions.*

Although the Sewells had this splendid "pad" wonderfully located for north London parties, they were always happy to find other venues and, in particular, to avoid the need to clean up their own home the "morning after". Once my marriage to Naomi had ended, and I remained in residence at what had been the marital home in Hornsey, they were only too delighted to organise the parties and allow me to provide the venue.

Bob Sewell at my Hornsey home

It was Bob who, having tired of a relationship with a very attractive young woman, made it known to me that he would welcome my taking his place in her affections. Barkis was willing and Joan and I spent some happy months together before she decided to "move on". In a gracious gesture she introduced me to friend Jean, who thereupon became not merely a "girl friend", but the source of some fantastic experiences as revealed in he section on Stars in their Eyes. She, in turn, introduced me to a lovely young friend, Pat Smith, with whom I had a brief romantic liaison, but then a much longer lasting friendship. I think I said in another section that this was a somewhat incestuous period! But wait! It gets better.

I had met the Sewells before my marriage to Naomi. The friendship with them continued after Naomi's parents, in reconciliation to our marriage, had provided the deposit for us to purchase the Hornsey home from my aunt and uncle, and persisted beyond the break-up of the marriage, our divorce, and Naomi's consequent departure. It effectively ended a few years later, after I had met and become engaged to (my second wife) June, who did not approve of them or their behaviour. I was confronted with a choice. I chose June ⁽⁰⁾. But, those few years in between, were spent in riotous living.

Of the fascinating characters that passed through the party halls, in memory the two most glamorous were Marqueez⁽¹⁾ and Adrienne Corri⁽²⁾

Most exciting was the quite uninhibited private show Marqueez gave. Most memorable, perhaps, was the beauty of Adrienne Corri, who was at that time a very keen partygoer. Presumably, as myself and others, a phase that was soon outgrown.

The person who impressed me most was Alan Clive. He was a well-known and respected impressionist and variety performer whose most effective impression was probably of James Stewart, the American actor, whom he could quite uncannily resemble physically when doing the impression. In 1947 he had appeared in Café Continental, a TV series with Helene Cordet.

One of Alan's best friends was Jon Pertwee, possibly best remembered as one of the early portrayers of Dr Who. Jon, who I met only once in Alan's company, could also resemble and impersonate the American actor Danny Kaye. Alan used to tell the story of how he and Jon would dine out at some major London establishment, having reserved a table in the names of Danny Kaye and James Stewart, and just how long they might maintain the masquerade before being "rumbled".

Of the remaining partygoers, several of them were destined to become close and greatly appreciated personal friends of mine. Ron and Pat Musgrove, who lived in Surrey, were very much a part of my social life for several years and, although I have since lost contact with them, still regard them with affection.

The picture shows the Musgroves when I visited them in Surrey sometime in the 1990s together with my friend Ruth Carneson. This provides an excellent example of the "only connect" thesis that I believe in. The Carneson family has been an important and influential part of my life and this is the only occasion, as far as I am aware, that the two connections have overlapped. Clicking on Ruth's name below the thumbnail picture will take you to the Carneson pages.

Terry Greer was someone who not only became very much a part of my life subsequent to my involvement with the Sewells, but further exemplifies the "only connect" concept. In 1960, some time after my second marriage, June and I planned a motoring holiday to Morocco, driving through France and Spain, and then via Tangier. Terry, who was one of the few contacts from my "Sewell years" that June really liked, had expressed an interest in joining us for the trip. We felt that it would be more enjoyable if we could even up the numbers with another female. I asked around and Pat Smith (who put in an appearance in the Jack of Clubs section of this book) said she would love to join us. We organised a dinner for four to ensure that we were sufficiently compatible decided that we were, and made the trip.

The picture shows Pat and June in native garb, with Terry (on right), in Tangier

Now the coincidences, the connection, the incestuous connotations, get really "hairy". We set off in my bright red Ford Consul car.⁽³⁾ Only June and I were licensed to drive. June was several months pregnant. She had, however, only recently passed her driving test and was certainly not yet comfortable enough to drive in Europe and Africa. Thus the driving devolved on me.

We made the trip through France and Spain in three days, took the ferry from Algeciras, and had a wonderful two nights in Tangier. Then set off, via a stop in Casablanca, to meet up with friends in Rabat. René and Nicole had earlier been our house guests in London, when he was preparing a report on English education for the French government, and he was now, as a Finance Minister representing France in Morocco. I had first met René when, as a schoolboy, I had gone on that exchange of pupils to Paris in 1946. It may have been their move to Rabat that first put the idea of a holiday in Morocco into our head.

Anyway, I then drove from Rabat to Marrakech, where we spent a couple of days, before deciding to move on to Fez and even, perhaps, try to fit in a side-trip to the Atlas Mountains before our return to England. Several hours out of Marrakech, under a blazing sun, and having been driving for more than one week, I was in danger of falling asleep. June, somewhat dubiously, decided it would be safer for her to take the wheel for a while and let me rest in the back. So we swapped places. I was shaken awake by a squeal of brakes and the sight of a massive articulated vehicle alongside. The car seemed to swerve. Then I saw Terry reach across and grab the steering wheel. The car swerved even more in the opposite direction, plunged headfirst into a ditch, and somersaulted twice! It ended up on its wheels, we were able to open the door and get out.⁽⁴⁾

The most amazing sight that greeted me at this point was Terry, pointing his movie camera at the car, then at us, then at the truck that had stopped up the road, then at the hordes of Moroccans who had materialised magically from nowhere. He seemed unconcerned with the health and safety of any of us. He was totally absorbed in his professional interest as a film-maker. This, in fact, marked a change of direction for him. He had been a well-known cartoonist for some time and was regularly employed by the BBC for small cartoons to accompany programme notes in the Radio Times.

The sequel to this incident, very briefly, was that a French farmer came by with his jeep, towed us to his farm, insisted on accommodating us overnight, and feeding us. I was woken the next morning by the sound of banging, went to the window and saw the farmer trying to beat out dents in my car. After a splendid breakfast and an absolute refusal by the farmer to accept any compensation for the expense and trouble he had gone to, we took our leave of him, hoping the badly dented car would see us as far as Casablanca, where we could contact the British Automobile Association (with whom fortuitously I had made arrangements before departure for overseas cover) and arrange for the car to be repaired. It was established that the car was un-repairable. The farmer had freed the wheels and brakes up for the journey from his farm, but metal parts were apparently rubbing against each other and we were very lucky not to have caught fire during the trip. In the end we flew home from Casablanca and the AA arranged shipment back to the UK of the car, which was promptly declared to be a "write-off" and its value was reimbursed to me through my insurance.

Now for the incredible connection coincidence. The four of us had made arrangements for a viewing of the film that Terry had made. We were due to meet up at his flat in Pimlico. June, Pat and I were travelling together and stopped off in Kensington to do some shopping. To my utter astonishment we bumped into my ex-wife Naomi in the street outside Derry and Toms department store. After exchanging greetings, Naomi said she would love to join us for the "film show". So we invited her along.

In fact, within weeks Naomi and Terry had set up home together. Some years later they had produced a couple of daughters. They never married. A few years further down the line I learned that Naomi had married again and was living with their daughters and her new husband in Huntingdon in the east of England.

I've mentioned incestuous coincidences earlier. But I mean . . . how incestuous does it get? And it all started with those naughty Sewells!!!

*And Lionel King Lassman did, in fact, go on to become a very well-known lawyer and a leading figure, with his wife Sheila, in the north London progressive synagogue. I had a very close relationship with them in those days, and have continued to have tenuous contact with them over the years. I have never lost my respect for him, or my love for them.

Billed as Glamour of the Veils. Later in Bernard Delfont's Paris to Piccadilly at the Hippodrome and subsequently the Prince of Wales with Norman Wisdom in the lead.

A very beautiful, glamorous film star, possibly best-remembered for her role in A Clockwork Orange and subsequently married to Daniel Massey.

⁽⁴⁾ Caroline was born in September 1960. Apparently unaffected by the experience.